Memoirs of a Neurotic Zombie (4 page)

The bus trundled north as the flat Ohio landscape breezed by. Eventually we hit Detroit and stopped at the Canadian border. Two uniformed guards, a moustached man and a scowling woman, climbed aboard to inspect us.

‘Welcome to Canada,’ said the man. ‘What’s the purpose of your visit?’

Growl spoke up. ‘These lucky kids have got a summer of fun, activities, and adventure ahead of them at Camp Nowannakidda.’

‘All right,’ said the woman, ‘we’ll just check your passports and you can be on your way.’

‘Hand ’em forward,’ demanded Growl. ‘Come on, campers! Adventure awaits!’

Everyone passed up their blue passports and Growl shared the stack with the border officers. The moustached
man strode down the aisle to check me out. He looked at my passport photo, which was just over a year old.

‘New with the make-up, kid?’ he asked.

‘It’s a phase,’ I said.

‘Just lay off the perfume up north,’ he cautioned. ‘It’ll attract the bears.’

I wasn’t thrilled about someone else holding on to my passport, but right then my anxiety turned to the bears.

I just hoped that Nesto’s chupacabra could keep the bears away.

It wasn’t long before we were on the open Canadian road, a highway surrounded by cornfields. I noticed a sign for a rest stop up ahead and asked Growl if we could stretch our legs and get some fresh air.

The bus driver mumbled something about tanking up and Growl agreed to pull us over at the next service station.

As we pulled in, I noticed a giant, golden doughnut on a pole. In neon lettering, it read: Can Nibble Donuts!

‘Doughnut run!’ announced Nesto.

‘Do you know what’s in those?’ I asked.

‘I’m with chuppy,’ said Corina. ‘I’m starving and after four hours in the tank with the scent of blood, I’m dying for a doughnut.’

Growl led everyone off the bus and they lined up to spend their dough on fried dough. I joined Nesto and Corina as they approached the counter of the doughnut seller. I spotted a sign that asked: ‘Can Nibble? Yes you can!’ It proudly declared that the Can Nibble Donut Corporation had over two thousand shops serving the doughnut needs of Canadians from coast to coast.

‘Can I help you?’ asked the lady behind the counter.

‘I’ll pass,’ I said.

‘Watching your figure?’ she asked.

Nesto laughed. ‘I’ll have a Cruel Summer Cruller, a Sunrise Sprinkle, and a Chocolate Concoction.’

‘I’ll take a party pack of Can Nibblers,’ said Corina, pointing to the sign above the counter. The Can Nibblers were little doughnut holes with faces painted on them. They looked overly happy given they were about to be eaten, digested, and eventually excreted.

‘A party pack is just twelve Nibblers,’ the lady replied. ‘You’ll save more with a two-four.’

Nesto pushed his cruller into his face and nearly cried with glee. ‘Thishishamazang,’ he mumbled.

‘Sold,’ said Corina, handing over the money.

The woman looked at the American dollars and smiled. ‘Hope you enjoy our national delicacy.’

Corina grabbed a little Nibbler, smiled back at its little icing smile, and popped it into her mouth.

‘Oh My Count,’ she nearly screamed. ‘Nesto’s right. A-maze-zing!’

She quickly grabbed three more of her two-four and swallowed those doughnut holes, well, whole. I swear she purred. She stood a little taller and I think her skin almost glowed.

‘Those are weally good,’ she said, with her mouth full.

The doughnut pusher smiled. ‘I know the feelin’ honey.’

Growl swaggered up behind us with a big grin on his tanned face. ‘You guys’ve discovered our delicacy, eh?’

‘Sogrood,’ chomped Nesto.

‘I’ll take a dozen Icing Igloos, and a dozen Northern Lights,’ he ordered, noticing I wasn’t stuffing my face. ‘Adam, you’re not partaking?’

I shook my head.

‘Watching my figure,’ I joked.

‘We’ll fatten you up at camp,’ he said. ‘The food rocks and there’s plenty of it.’

‘I like my BMI
*
where it is,’ I said.

‘Adam,’ he said, ‘like a great philosopher once said: you gotta
live
while you’re alive.’

‘What philosopher?’ I asked.

‘Jon Bon Jovi,’ he said.

‘Okay,’ I relented, if only to avoid getting life lessons from old rock stars. ‘I’ll have one bite.’

Corina offered me a little Nibbler – a dark brown ball encased in pearlescent icing. I bit into the soft, sugary dough. It was like biting off a piece of heaven.
†

The sugar coated my tongue like a properly made bed. The dough was denser than I’d expected, but somehow not heavy. As I chewed, the jam inside oozed out, bursting into my mouth like I’d cracked a piñata of pure pleasure.

‘A two-four, please!’ I immediately ordered.

The server smiled. ‘Another Can-Nibble convert,’ she said, sharing a  grin with Growl.

‘Welcome to Canada, kids,’ he said. ‘I think you’re gonna like it up here.’

There’s a song called ‘The Wheels on the Bus’, which melodically recounts all of the various activities that occur on a bus as it drives ‘all day long’. As the wheels on our bus went ‘round and round’, pushing ever northwards, an accurate version of the ditty would go something like:

Eventually we turned off the paved road, trundled down a long dirt road and arrived at a set of tall, barbed gates. I also noticed a couple of watchtowers. Everyone else had passed out from either exhaustion or the dangerously high levels of fart particles in the oxygen supply.
*
No one else was awake to wonder what the camp was trying to keep out.

‘Um, Growl?’ I said. ‘Why is the camp behind such a big fence?’

‘Bears, man,’ he said. ‘There’s bears in these woods and we wouldn’t want any of you getting eaten … you know, by bears.’

‘Makes sense,’ I said with an approving nod. For the first time since I’d heard about camp, things were looking up. Here’s a place that took safety and security as seriously as I did.

As we drove through the forested campground, I spotted baseball diamonds carved out of the woods, and a long stretch of waterfront. The water sparkled in the early evening sun. Kids jumped off the dock and splashed around in the water. They looked sun-kissed and happy, completely oblivious to the harmful effects of the sun’s UV spectrum and the waterborne parasites they were frolicking amongst. I suppose ignorance truly was a form of bliss.

Corina was eating in her sleep and I noticed her fangs had grown as she dreamt. I nudged her awake.

‘We’re here,’ I said.

She snapped at my hand.

‘Easy, tiger,’ I said. ‘And my, what big teeth you have.’

She touched her enlarged incisors and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Her fangs retracted. She contorted herself left and right in obvious discomfort.

‘Agh,’ she groaned. ‘My back is aching. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I really miss my coffin.’

After ten hours locked in the mobile fart hothouse, I knew what she meant. ‘Maybe you can construct one in arts and crafts,’ I said.

She rolled her eyes then pinched her nose. ‘Why does it smell so bad in here?’

Nesto popped his head over the seats. ‘Hey guys.’

‘Oh, right,’ Corina said. ‘We’re travelling with the boy who refuses to bathe.’

Nesto did stink so I let him passively take the blame for the smelly situation. I didn’t think it was wise or polite to alert Corina to the source of the toxicity.
†

‘Did you see the lake?’ asked Nesto. ‘I’m totally taking the chupa for a swim tonight.’

‘We may be away from Croxton,’ I cautioned, ‘but let’s keep our weirdness to ourselves. We don’t want to arouse suspicion.’

‘Aren’t you tired of hiding, Adam?’ asked Corina.

‘You’re the one who said people were afraid of different,’ I said. It was a chore to make myself up every morning to look vaguely human, and I did sometimes fantasise about living out in the open as a zombie. But the world, or at the very least our little corner of it, didn’t quite seem ready for the undead, let alone a vegan vampire or tweenage chupacabra.

I remember how upset Corina was with me when I
first decided to go back to school. She made me promise not to reveal my undead nature, for fear of being discovered and dissected.

‘I think that’s what this year’s vampire convention is all about,’ she told us. ‘Our kind is growing tired of living in the shadows of humanity. They want their time in the, well, not so much sun for obvious reasons, but in the spotlight at least.’

As a guy who yearned for Broadway fame but was always relegated to the lip-synching chorus, I could kind of feel for the vampires.

‘I just wanna run free,’ said Nesto. ‘I think I can do that here.’

‘Sure,’ I said, ‘under the cover of darkness, though.’

‘Maybe one day we won’t need to hide who we are,’ pondered Corina.

‘Maybe,’ I said, trying to be supportive. ‘But probably not today, or the next day, or the day after—’

‘I get it,’ she interrupted.

‘Okay campers!’ called Growl. ‘Time to get your summer on! I’ll show you your tents and then we have a big dinner to welcome you and say farewell to the departing campers. Then, and this is awesome, they’ll put on their big talent show! Welcome to the Camp
Nowannakidda experience. I want you to enjoy this summer like it’s your last! C’mon!’

Another camp counsellor, who was really tanned in a sleeveless T-shirt and ripped jeans, helped us unload our gear from under the bus.

‘Name’s Duke,’ he said with a smile, ‘and I’m here to help.’

Growl high-fived his fellow counsellor and then led us into the fields to show us our tents.

Rows of beige canvas triangles were arranged in a grassy field at the edge of the evergreen forest. I was paired with Nesto, and worried that he might transmutate in his sleep. On the girls’ side of the field, poor Corina got saddled with Amanda. Jake got a tent to himself because apparently his parents paid extra, but I think it was probably because the camp was concerned about the legal liability putting someone in a closed environment with the foulest farter in the Midwest.

We were assigned an LIT, a ‘Leader in Training’. Our LIT was a bubbly girl who looked like she was in high school. Her name was Petal and she had long brown hair tied in a braid. She wore short ripped shorts and a white, red-rimmed T-shirt that read: Camp Nowannakidda! No Kiddin’!

‘Yippy day, campers,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ll give you a few minutes to get settled in, then bring you over for dinner in the mess hall. Later, campfire and ghost stories, maybe a midnight swim if you feel up for it. Any questions?’

I raised my hand.

‘Yes, you can wear make-up here,’ she said. ‘We’re very tolerant of your lifestyle choices.’

‘It’s not a lifestyle choice,’ I shot back. ‘I’ve got extremely dry, and pale, skin.’

Hey, I wasn’t lying
.

Corina patted me on the back. ‘He’s very sensitive.’

‘You can say that again,’ said Amanda.

I kept my hand raised – I really did have a question – but Amanda just rolled her eyes and said, ‘It’s a figure of speech, Adam. You don’t actually need to say it again.’

‘Um, Miss Petal,’ I asked, ignoring my sister. ‘Where are the showers?’

She laughed. And then she laughed again.

‘This is the great outdoors,’ Petal said. ‘We bathe in Mother Nature’s bosom.’

‘He-he-he.’ Nesto giggled. ‘That means boobs.’

‘He’s eleven,’ I explained. ‘But seriously, I’d like to get cleaned up before we eat.’

‘We like to keep things natural here,’ she explained. ‘No showers, no flushing toilets, not even—’

‘I’m with Mr Clean
‡
here,’ said Corina. ‘I don’t do outhouses.’

‘You kids’ll get used to it! And whatever doesn’t kill you makes you tastier.’

Huh? Did she just say
—

‘
Stronger
,’ Petal said, with a sheepish look. ‘I must be hungry. Yep, almost dinner time.
Stronger
. I meant stronger.’

They say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. While I think that phrase shows a gross misunderstanding of basic anatomy, there is something about good food that makes everything else seem bearable.
*

Whatever doubts I had – and they were many, and outlined in a strongly worded letter to my parents – quickly faded to minor annoyances when we entered the dining cabin they called the ‘mess hall’.

I must admit my expectations were low. Any place called a mess hall was bound to be messy, and I feared the food would be crueller than gruel. But as we entered
the large log cabin propped up just above the ground on concrete struts, we joined about a hundred other campers at long wooden tables and benches, already laid out with juice, bread baskets, and bizarrely, bowls of candy.

‘I’m in heaven,’ said Nesto.

‘Not yet.’ Growl laughed, suddenly behind us and putting his hands on our shoulders. ‘Wait ’til you taste it! And you get to eat like this for two whole weeks!’

An overflowing buffet ran the length of one wall. I noticed piping hot pizza, roast chicken, a roast beef carvery, a French-fry station and a freezer counter filled with at least twenty different ice-cream flavours.

It had been a long bus ride and despite the doughnut break, I was famished. I was ready for a feast.

‘I actually can’t wait,’ I said, salivating over the spread.
†

‘You can eat as much as you like here,’ Growl said.

Nesto actually jumped up and down. ‘Keeps. Getting. Better!’

‘I don’t see anything vegan,’ complained Corina.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Growl. ‘We cater for all tastes here. We don’t want you to be hungry, so I’ll check with the chef.’

Petal pointed to the trays and cutlery. ‘As the new arrivals, you campers get to eat first.’

The new campers cheered.

‘I love this place,’ said Nesto. ‘So much food!’

‘I hate this place,’ countered Corina. ‘Too much good cheer.’

For me, I wasn’t sure what to think. The food looked amazing, but something felt strange. I grabbed a tray and wiped it down with a fresh wet wipe straight from the packet.

Never leave home without ’em.

Seriously, never.

Ever.

Ever
.

I couldn’t believe it, but I was actually missing Mom and Dad. I wondered how they were faring on their road trip. Turned out I’d been right about the Founding Fathers, but Amanda had reneged on our bet. But the joke was on her. Even though we weren’t in the wilds of Montana, she couldn’t get any mobile coverage up here in the sticks of Ontario.

While I certainly didn’t wish to be squished in the back seat of a Meltzer family road trip, I did miss Mom and Dad. So, in honour of my money-grubbing parents, I opted for the pizza and scanned the buffet for meatballs.

‘Something missing from the spread?’ The guy behind the counter must’ve noticed my glancing. He was skinny, pale, and wearing a hairnet, which I totally approved of, and his arms were inked with circular tattoos. His name tag branded him as Crow.

‘I was hoping for meatballs, Mr Crow,’ I said.

‘With pizza?’ he asked. ‘What a great pairing. Oh, and it’s not Mister.’

‘Oh, sorry,’ I said. ‘
Señor
Crow.’

‘Just Crow,’ he said. ‘Meatballs with pizza, pretty great.’

‘Actually on the pizza,’ I clarified. ‘It’s my dad’s recipe.’

‘Homesick, eh?’ Crow asked, serving me a couple of slices.

‘Maybe a little bit,’ I said. ‘Okay, a lot.’

‘Well, I’ll be sure to have meatballs for ya tomorrow. Until then, you ever try poo-teen?’

I stared blankly. ‘Poo what?’

‘Poutine, pee-oh-you-tee-eye-en-ee,’ he said, in a type
of French accent that reminded me of Professor Plante, the mad scientist who tried to unleash a swarm of zombees on Croxton. Even though I missed my parents, I was actually happy to be far from my weird town, which on a normal day was an epicentre of weirdness, but right now, with a convention of thousands of vampires taking over, was at least vamp-point-eight on the Richter scale.

Crow scooped up a plate of fries and doused them with steaming gravy. My mom had a thing for gravy fries, but Crow took it one step further. He suddenly covered them in something called cheese curds.
‡
‘It’s a big thing up here. I think you’ll like it.’

I wasn’t sure whether to drool or retch.

I enjoyed a good French fry, a staple of the American diet, and I’d snuck a few of my mom’s gravy fries from time to time, so I was no purist, but the addition of cheese (and cheese curds at that!) was either genius or sadistic. Either way, I was certain the plate of gravy-and-cheese-slathered fries would push me way over the
suggested calorie intake of a boy my age. I might be the walking dead, but I did not need to be the rolling dead.

‘Go on,’ said Crow, ‘you only live once!’

If I was out in the open about being a zombie, I would have debated this, but I wasn’t, and he continued, ‘Trust me. You’ll love ’em!’

So I took my pizza and my poutine (which had nothing to do with either poo or being a teen) and added a generous helping of salad on the side plus a glass of milk, and found my friends at our table.

Corina pushed a few peas around her plate while Nesto had three plates all heaving with meat. A lot of animals died for his dinner.

‘Looks like you’re a hungry hippo,’ said Corina, eyeing my tray.

‘I’m trying the local delicacy,’ I said, spearing a soggy fry and cheese curd with my fork. As I popped it into my mouth, the grease and salt awoke my taste buds to this northern sensation. ‘Oh Canada! It’s really good,’ I said with my mouth full.

‘You boys just don’t have self-restraint,’ she said, popping a pea into the air and catching it in her mouth.

Corina opened her black leather jacket and teased a plastic bag of Pop Rocks out of her inside pocket.

‘Self-restraint’s for losers,’ said Nesto.

‘And for people who wear seat belts,’ I added. ‘They tend to be winners in Darwin’s eyes.’
§

I inhaled most of my sopping fries and saved a few at the end for an experiment with my pizza. I laid six gravy soaked fries and three cheese curds on top of the pepperoni slice. At first I felt bad that I was cheating on Dad’s meatball pizza. But then I didn’t care. It all tasted so good. As I gulped my glass of milk, Petal glided between the tables and stopped behind us. She was carrying a tray with different-coloured squeezy bottles: brown, pink, red, yellow, even green.

‘That milk is missing something,’ Petal said.

‘Yeah,’ said Corina. ‘The baby cow it was intended for.’

She gave a half laugh and raised the brown squeezy bottle, offering me ‘a splash of chocolate?’

Dark brown syrup slipped out of the nozzle and turned my white milk into a cloudy, then chocolaty treat.

Nesto held out his glass, excitedly. ‘I’ll take them all!’

Petal turned Nesto’s milk black with her colourful cocktail of syrup. ‘And you?’ she asked Corina.

‘I’m vegan,’ Corina announced.

‘I’m so sorry,’ the LIT said, suddenly a lot less bubbly. ‘Well, I suppose there’s always one.’

At that, she rushed away, down the long table and stopped at another group of campers, dousing their milks with sugary syrup and making them really happy campers.

‘I never want to leave,’ declared Nesto.

Corina rolled her eyes and popped a Rock. She seemed distant, aloof. I mean, those were her normal characteristics, but since this whole camp thing came up she seemed even more detached.

Nesto stuffed his face and I polished off my plate in record time. I was hungrier than I thought and happy to know that my zombified digestive system was still ticking. I had no idea if the food I was eating these days would help me to grow, or whether I’d be stuck in a twelve-year-old’s decomposing body for the rest of my life. But what I really felt was full. And it felt really good.

I leaned back in my chair to give my stomach a bit of extra room and relished the sensation of feeling stuffed.

‘Just look at them all,’ said Corina, gesturing to the mess hall full of carnivorous campers. ‘They’re gobbling everything in sight.’

She looked at us both. ‘And you two are no better.’

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

‘What’s wrong is that you are all going to get really fat.’

‘Oh,’ I said, ‘and downing nothing but Pop Rocks is the diet of champions?’

Corina leaned in. ‘I’ve got a vampire’s metabolism,’ she whispered.

‘Well, there’ll be more of us to love,’ joked Nesto.

‘No, lizard brain,’ she said, rising to leave. ‘There’ll be more of you to eat!’

She kept her mouth closed. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because she had nothing else to say but because her fangs were fighting to come out.

Corina had a bad case of the munchies and I worried that Pop Rocks weren’t going to cut it.